Reflections
by Andi1
Summary: Two kids may change Jesse's life. (corny title, I know) Re-worked.
1. Default Chapter

Reflections  
  
  
  
All disclaimers apply. The fictional characters Jesse Travis, Mark Sloan, Steve Sloan, Amanda Bentley, CJ, Dion, are products of their originators and are used for the purposes of this story, no profit is being made from this. The characters Hank and Sam Dirks, Gunther Dirks and others are products of the author.  
  
Synopsis: Two young strangers may change Jesse's life.  
  
Story by Andi  
  
Genre: Drama/General  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Author's note: I would greatly appreciate constructive criticism. I do have problems concentrating, but I have improved.  
  
*Special thanks to my sister, Debbie, who helps me concentrate, gives her opinions, and makes me laugh.*  
  
  
  
Introduction-  
  
A gunshot. A man. And his uncle's dead body. Hank stood and watched the smoke hanging in the air like a ghost. He felt inside of him quiver as he watched the shooter cut through the fog like a razor blade. The boy was on the verge of biting his tongue out of fear and stumbling backwards when the man vehemently grabbed his wrist.  
  
"Listen you little brat, you better tell the police that Keith did this..." The man left off, searching his mind for some threat. "or I'll hurt your brother, and then I'll come after you."  
  
Hank whimpered, tears began to sour in his eyes. The man stared at him with confident, yet nervous green eyes. He let go of the boy's wrist and stalked away, blending in with the hard, agitated mood. Now the man had left out the back door. Hank ventured through the door frame, cradling his hand, and into the kitchen, and looked.  
  
Steve and Mark stepped out into the crispy night air. Two patrol cars parked closely to the sidewalk curb, their blue and white lights flashing brighter than the street lamps. Steve recognized them as the new vehicles that he heard were issued not long ago. Yellow tape had already been run around the house, and Steve and Mark continued up the long drive way. The house was middle class and one story. A strong, earthy scent led Mark to believe that the grass had been mowed not too long ago.  
  
"Amanda, hi." Steve called, standing in the kitchen door frame. It felt kinda strange how one of his best friends could sometimes pay more attention to a cadaver than to him. "Amanda."  
  
The M.E. turned from where she knelt over the body, "Mark! I need you to look at something for me."  
  
Mark stepped on the linoleum. "Sure. What do you need?"  
  
Amanda stood, straightening the bottom of her jacket as she did so. "We think there's a witness but he won't talk." She stated, "I thought, maybe you could try to speak with him."  
  
"I'd be happy to."  
  
"Thanks. He's in the front room."  
  
"Okay."  
  
Back again in the front room, and seeing the large leather sofa, coffee tables, and TV, this was also the den or living room. On the burgundy sofa, sitting nearest to the front window, was a small boy, probably about nine, Mark guessed. His head bent downward, his shoulders slumped, his mind occupied. He directed his question at the child. "Do I know you?"  
  
Steve looked at his father curiously, then took a closer look at the boy. He was sure he'd never met the boy before, but there was something strangely familiar about him that nagged the detective. Steve fought ferociously to place the kid.  
  
The boy raised his head to answer Mark's unusual question, "I...don't know. My name's Hank."  
  
Mark smiled and knelt down, "I'm Dr. Sloan and this is my son Steve."  
  
Hank's blue eyes perked with interest. "Doctor?"  
  
"Yes, that's right."  
  
"You mean like a hospital doctor?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
Hank sighed. "Can you help me?"  
  
"That's what were here for." Mark answered, grateful that Hank was responding to them.  
  
"Good." Hank slid off the couch and stood to face the two, with a more relaxed countenance. "Because my brother's sick, my uncle thought it was just the flu or something..." He said, motioning them to follow him. "But even if he has the flu he's up. This...I'm scared." Hank stopped a moment, worry haunting his eyes.  
  
Mark and Steve shared looks, and followed him down a hallway to a room.  
  
"This is our room." Hank said, hand on the doorknob, he twisted it and entered, the father and son duo behind him. Hank silently walked to bottom bunk. "Sam, are you awake?" Easily, he grabbed Sam's right shoulder and shook it gently.  
  
Sam moaned a little, but hardly moved. Mark took two wide steps to them and sat on the bed. "Steve, flip on the light." Steve did as he was told. Light illuminated the room as fast as the speed of thought. Mark gasped quietly, and his eyes widened. "You're a twin?" The physician inquired Hank.  
  
Hank nodded.  
  
Mark returned his focus on Sam. The child's eyes were closed, and he was shivering slightly underneath the plaid bed sheets. "Sam can you tell me what's wrong?" Mark waited a moment, watching the boy breathe gasping breaths through what sounded like an inflamed throat. Mark put the back of his hand against Sam's flushed face. "He's burning up." Mark stared at Hank, "Has he thrown up any?"  
  
"A little." Hank replied. "And he said that he hurt all over this morning...he's worse now...will he be okay?"  
  
Steve observed the short boy, a pained, almost guilty look in his almost familiar eyes.  
  
"Well, we won't know until we get him to the hospital."  
  
"Hos-hospital?" Hank stammered, scarcely drawing a breath, while taking in the impending seriousness of his twin's condition.  
  
Mark gazed softly at Hank. "I'm afraid so. Hank, I need you to get ready to go to the hospital, really fast."  
  
Hank was off, in search of his jacket. Steve watched him go, a bit relieved that the little lad had something to occupy him. "Dad, what do you want to do?"  
  
Mark pulled the comforter around Sam. "I told you: get him to a hospital." The physician determined, his tone both a mixture of a professional and a father.  
  
"You want me to call for an ambulance?"  
  
"No, we'll take them."  
  
  
  
End of Introduction  
  
  
  
I re-worked this introduction. Thank you Kayrie and Ficfan! I'm glad you told me what you thought was wrong, it helped. I feel better about it than I did before. Thanks to Weumsel and Lila, too! - the author 


	2. Chapter One

*Sorry, it took me so long. You can blame it on me and the computer! It's technologically challenged, as is the author. I tried several different versions of this chapter, and finally settled on the one that has been uploaded.  
  
Many thanks to those who took you time to review it! I hope you like it.  
  
Chapter One- Memory  
  
The noise of the siren was made equal with the noise of the rain smacking into the windshield. The occasional thunder clap couldn't sever Mark from his thoughts. It was eleven o'clock at night. They all spoke nothing. Mark quietly checked Sam's vitals, he still wasn't responding verbally. With his fever, Sam could be close to convulsions. Mark looked across the back seat. Hank sat in the corner of the vehicle, watching his brother.  
  
"All right, Dad." Steve stated, dissolving the silence. "You get out, I'll go park the car."  
  
Mark stepped out of the vehicle, Sam in his arms. Hank hopped out in pursuit of them. The emergency bay doors whooshed open. Mark went directly to Kelly Hughes, draped in a white labcoat. He'd called the pediatrician on his way to the hospital, and explained to her what was wrong. "Hank," Mark started, "I need you to go with nurse Janell, she'll take you to the waiting room."  
  
"No! What about Sammy!?" Hank cried, jerking against the nurse's firmly guiding hand. He felt like he was being chased by some big, huge monster that intended to swallow him up into loneliness. "Sammy!" Hank's fingers were cold, and there was that squirming unrest in his stomach. Sam was gone, away into a trauma room. Hank couldn't take his eyes off the direction his brother, Dr. Sloan, and the other doctor had vanished.  
  
Steve entered the hospital, brushing some of the raindrops from his leather jacket. Assuming his father was already taking care of Sam, Steve went to see how Hank was doing. He sighed, observing the child. He looked tired, a frown taking up residence on his face. A face that Steve's brain now had an idea why it was familiar, though, the answer seemed a bit odd. Hank rested against the armrest of the old couch.  
  
It was cloudy, and smooth; the memory. The house seemed old, but steady. Hank didn't know where he was. He did know he was small, and younger. Quietly, he watched as his father tied his lank shoelaces. A man that Hank treasured. The figure before him had the very same eyes and face as he did. Hank woke up from his empty gaze, when the sight of two other shoes announced the end to his memory. Something that he cherished, and did his best to remember. "Hi."  
  
"Mind if I sit there?" Steve asked, indicating the seat next to Hank.  
  
"Depends."  
  
"What?"  
  
"How much do you have?" Hank inquired.  
  
Steve stared at his innocent, sweet smile, obviously hiding a mischievous streak. "I'm going to keep an eye on you." The officer sat down beside him with mock suspiciousness. Nevertheless, he had questions to ask. "So, Hank, how old are you?"  
  
"Nine."  
  
"That's cool...You okay? Can I get you anything?" Steve offered.  
  
Hank watched a nurse type into a computer. Thinking if he had any needs, he answered. "No, but thanks."  
  
Steve's detective instincts pressed him to ask, and he tried to keep himself from sounding intimidating. "Hank, did you see anything?"  
  
Hank had felt this coming, he began to panic, remembering the awful threat and the guilt that came with it. But he wanted to tell the truth. "See anything?" he repeated nervously. "Where? I...."  
  
Steve sensed his conflict. "Okay." He gazed up at the overhead florescent light. He understood. No bugging until later. But he didn't want the child to suffer alone, to keep it all in his head and isolate himself... not without some support. Gently, he put a hand on Hank's shoulder, hoping in some way to console him. Then he asked another question. "Is there anyone I can call for you?"  
  
Hank had nothing to hold onto. Just Sam. Well, he had his aunt, but she was no fun. And the comforting thought of his Dad. "Uh." He murmured. "Just Katrina, our aunt...she's out, probably getting her toes done." He shuddered.  
  
"Does she have a cellphone?"  
  
"I don't care." Hank stated, emotionless. "And now uncle Gunther's dead." He whined. Unsure about how he felt about him. He had always been busy, so Hank and his brother hardly knew him. That and they had a different baby- sitter every week. He also made them play baseball to keep them out of the way. They hated it. He felt a little guilty about not knowing how to react to his loss. So he kept up a confident disposition, and tried to keep his mind off his worries.  
  
Steve gazed at him, sympathetically. He hated feeling helpless, and he guessed this child did, too.  
  
Hank looked around the waiting room. He observed the walls, they were grubby from the many hands that touched it. Nobody but him and Steve was there. Anxiously, he began to rub his arm. "Do you know how long they'll be in there?"  
  
"No." The detective said, not too eagerly. "What about your Dad?"  
  
"I don't know where he is, either." Hank grinned, but it faded quickly, he tried to keep up a self-assured composure. The detective could tell something was clawing at him. "I don't know much about him...just that my Mom left him."  
  
Steve nodded, understandably. "Do you know his name?"  
  
"Jess." Hank continued to look around, blinking every once in a while. "I have a watch...sometimes I can remember him, and he looks a lot like us."  
  
"A watch?"  
  
"Yes, I don't know, it could be my Dad's." Hank's hand dove into his pockets. "Hold out your hands."  
  
Steve did so, although, he kept wary. A kid like this could pull anything out of those coat pockets. 'Anything', included two used band-aids, a rubber ball, a dog leash, an uncapped marker and an Uno card, and a... "Aw, Hank, sick!"  
  
"Don't worry, it's not mine."  
  
"Not yours? Then who's is it?" Never before had he felt like washing his hands with so much enthusiasm. Steve stared at it with disgust. A piece of post-chewing bubble-gum, it seemed to wink at him.  
  
"Vince Cooper- the biggest bully in my grade- stuck it in my pocket." Hank lamented his recess time tormentor, what really made Hank tick was the fact that his brother was tormented even more unfairly. There were such times where Hank wanted to kick his big, fat... "You're a miracle worker, Officer Sloan! I haven't been able to get that out of there for three days!"  
  
Steve nodded, his focus was spliced in two, the other half of his focus on getting the bubble-gum off. Away. Anywhere, except him. "Excuse me...I'll be right back." He stated and dismissed himself from his seat and headed for the restroom.  
  
Hank watched him go. He gasped, he'd found it! He pulled it out of his right inside breast-pocket. One of the reasons he loved this jacket was that it had many pockets. Hank had placed it in a black, velvet bag. He'd grabbed the bag off of Katrina's dresser. Pulling the mouth of the sack wide-open, he let the wrist-watch slide out onto the palm of his hand. He turned it over to look at the back engraving on it.  
  
-To my dear friend, Jess  
  
-H. Winters  
  
Hank saddened. He wanted so much to be with his Dad. He jiggled the time- piece back in its sack. Then the boy set out, trailing the direction of the officer. Suddenly, a blur of white, caught him like a chameleon tongue catches a fly.  
  
"Going home, Dr. Travis?" Nurse Sarah asked, from the nurses' station.  
  
"Finally!" Jesse called. Sighing as he made the long awaited path to the locker room. A few times, when he was bored, Jesse would travel this path in his mind. The young physician yanked his cubby-hole door open. His mind seemed to fog, as he pulled his lab coat off. He was not a doctor now, he was a achy and tired human being. Never before had gravity so ruthlessly tried to drag him to the linoleum. But, as he did numerous times, he fought it. Jesse jerked his gym bag out of the bottom and snatched his keys. He back-tracked to the door, and was out. Leaving. Going. He had no intention of looking back for a good twelve hours.  
  
Hank followed, with great interest and maybe even joy.  
  
Two minutes' travel brought Jesse and, unbeknownst to him, Hank, to the parking lot. Hank felt a courageous hope swell up in him, with every step the physician took. The man's face, his eyes, his voice. "Daddy?!"  
  
Jesse quickly and smoothly came to a stop. Curiosity and concern made him turn to the location of the cry.  
  
"Daddy?" Hank called, quietly.  
  
Jesse stared at him. Dreaming, delirious? He blinked, seeking some sort of affirmation. Jesse watched the little child, waiting for some indication that he himself was being called. He dropped his bag into his car. Recognition. Briskly, he headed for the boy, stuffing his keys in his pocket as he did so. Suspicious, it was another crazy dream, without fail, he would wake up in the Doctors' lounge. "Hey, buddy. What's wrong?"  
  
"Daddy, don't you remember me? It's Adrian." The lad hinted, speaking a name he hadn't been called in years.  
  
"Adrian." He muttered in his breath. His brisk walk became a trot. Jesse traversed across the roadway and to the exit door, where he stood. "Adrian." He had to be dreaming, he hadn't seen him since...  
  
"Dad?"  
  
Jesse let himself down on one knee, where he was eye-level with the boy. "Adrian...it's you...you remember me?" Adrian shook his head yes. He marveled, running a hand through the boy's blonde hair, peering gingerly into his eyes. Gently, a smile brightened his face, and his tears glittered as they caught the light. They left damp trails down the sides of his face. Finally, he'd found him, or Adrian found him. The child seemed to mirror that same warmth, Adrian reached out to stroke the face that he refused to let leave his mind for six years.  
  
Jesse drew him into a hug. Adrian didn't disappear like a bubble. He didn't vaporize and leave the grasp that longed to hold him. He was there. Jesse felt regret arise and leave him. "Are you okay?...Where's your brother?" he asked.  
  
Adrian tilted his head back to meet his father's eyes. "Inside...he got sick." He informed, dismayed.  
  
"You want to go find out how he's doing?"  
  
Adrian nodded.  
  
Jesse released Adrian from the embrace, and stood. Squeezing his hand, tightly, they accompanied each other back into the hospital.  
  
  
  
End of Chapter One 


End file.
